


…trú þegir

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), True Blood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crossover, Fest: CBB, KINK: bloodplay, KINK: power play, M/M, OTHER: Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:24:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His mother always told him that a faith kept silent paid more richly than gold. She never said that he'd need to hold onto that faith for centuries while he waited for his félagi, his companion, to claim him as his equal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	…trú þegir

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** It's all lies. Adam is not a centuries old vampire. He is not fucking Eric Northman. He isn't playing D/s games with his lover… wait, that one might be true. :-P  
>  **AN:** Mad love for my artist: @qafmaniac, who is awesome and rocks my world on a damn near daily basis, and my prereaders: @shinyredrain, @leela_cat, @thraceadams. You all made this better!! All remaining mistakes are mine. Written for (a) the [Cockbert Big Bang](http://cockbertbigbang.livejournal.com/), (b) [Argeneau's](http://fyentertainment.livejournal.com/38220.html?thread=154273356#t154273356) charity:water donation, and (c) because, good fucking god, it's Adam Lambert and Eric Northman. Srsly? Who can resist that?
> 
> ART MASTER POST: On [DreamWidth](http://qafmaniac.dreamwidth.org/277126.html) and on [LiveJournal](http://qafmaniac.livejournal.com/209681.html).

  


"Adam is late."

"Is he?" Eric asks, one brow arching high. "I hadn't noticed, Pam."

Rolling her eyes, Pam turns and starts towards the door, muttering, "You let him get away with too much."

In a flurry of movement, Eric slams the door and traps Pam against it with his body. "Do not presume to understand what exists between me and Adam."

"He denies you," she says, tone matching the pout forming on her lips. "I find that offensive."

"And that shows how little you know. _I_ am not _his_ to deny. I did not make him, I simply found him," Eric replies, working hard to keep the surge of anger and possessiveness out of his voice. Because as sure as Eric wasn't the one to turn Adam, Adam still belongs to him.

Hand on the doorknob, Pam looks back over her shoulder. "You make your claims, Eric, but I have been around long enough to know. There is more between the two of you than either of you will admit."

"What we have between us is a game. We hunt, as vampires often do." He bites back the fact that they track each other instead of humans. They hunt and fight and fuck. 

Shaking her head, Pam opens the door, letting in the sharp and overwhelming sounds of Fangtasia. "That would sell better if you believed it yourself."

∴ ∞ ∴

"Adam," Eric murmurs to the empty room.

Adam Lachapelle when they'd first met. And then Adam Lambourne a century later. Adam Levinson after another hundred years had passed. 

For Eric, he is, will always be, simply Adam.

In this moment, as far as the world is concerned, he is Adam Lambert. Blue-grey eyes and blue-black hair. The eyes are the same as they were the day Eric found Adam, an abandoned fledgling searching for a family. The hair? Not so much.

Restarting the video, Eric mouths along with the song. Better Than I Know Myself. Released days before their scheduled meeting. Their meeting that Adam ignored. If there isn't some kind of message in that…

Huffing a disgruntled sigh, Eric shakes his head. Pam was closer to the truth than he wants to admit, even to himself. Adam owns a piece of his withering soul, just as he owns a piece of Adam's. And Adam's blatant disregard of their agreement burns. It crackles along Eric's skin like the heat of the sun, twisting and curling within him, reviving emotions that Eric thought long dead. 

They have gone through numerous centuries playing cat and mouse with one another. Predator and prey. It _is_ a game. About that he did not lie.

It's one that neither of them ever truly wins. That neither _wants_ to win.

Because winning for one means defeat for the other. Defeat, for either of them, is not an option. And because of that, they play their game.

It's a game that Adam has just upped the ante on. Intentionally. Eric no more thinks Adam's timing was an accident than he thinks Adam has given up hunting humans for sport. 

There are some things that just won't happen. Ever.

Adam hasn't made a play this grand since the night he left Eric's side. It's easy for Eric to think back on that night, to remember the whispered words –

_"You are my félagi, my companion."_

_"But," Adam replies, shaking his head, "I'm not your equal."_

_"That is not my choice, Adam. Only you can make that happen."_

_"Not while I am living in your shadow." Adam picks up his rucksack, stuffed to near overflowing with clothes and trinkets. "We'll see each other again?"_

_"I demand it," Eric replies, words harsh and fast. "I'll accept no more than a decade between visits."_

– and with the memory, Eric wonders what has changed, what has made Adam decide that now, after so many centuries, it is time to disregard the tenets of their agreement.

"As usual, you are wearing on my nerves, Adam," Eric murmurs, dragging a finger over the computer screen. He traces the outline of the emotionally darker Adam first, smirking, remembering the times when they hunted together. Then, finger never leaving the screen, he taps against the lighter version of Adam, knowing this is just as much a truth as the rambunctious, disobedient Adam is.

He finds _his_ Adam in the combination of the two, the perfection of an imperfect melding of good and bad. 

"And if you will not come to me," Eric says, eyes darting over the suitcase waiting just outside the door, "I will come to you."

Pushing to a stand, he shuts the laptop down and locks the office door behind him. Shrugging into his jacket, he picks up his suitcase and mutters, "Let the games begin."

∴ ∞ ∴

Standing high in the Hills, Eric looks down on Adam's house. 

"Still enchanted with light and noise," he says, watching as people filter in and out of the brightly lit rooms. "And humans."

It had been that, Adam's ridiculous need for contact, which had drawn Eric in the first time. Covered in street urchin grime and shaking from hunger, Adam had begged for – _relished in_ – the most innocent of touches. It was unusual for a vampire.

Eric soon learned that Adam went his own way more often than not, surrounding himself with humans and bright lights. Adam was – _is_ – a curiosity.

Eric has never been able to resist curiosities. 

Time clicks off quickly – after more than a thousand years of wandering, two hours moves like mere minutes – and then Adam is holding the door open, offering his brand of tactile goodbyes.

Eric continues to wait, letting another two hours slip by as he watches. Watches Adam go through the motions of cleaning up, watches as he disappears into a closed room and then reappears some thirty minutes later, shower damp with only a towel around his waist.

Then, when Adam pours a glass of deep red wine and steps out onto his deck, and then drops down in a chair by the pool, Eric stops watching and moves in.

He creeps light on his feet through the foliage, bypassing both the front door and the iron fence. Such restrictions have long since been gone between them. Just like the niceties of a polite greeting. He steps from between the hedges and goes directly to Adam's side. "You missed our appointment."

"Eric." Adam cracks one eye open and, wine-stained lips curling at the corners, says, "I actually expected you to arrive weeks ago. Long before the promo tour." He lifts the wine glass and takes a small sip, his tongue darting out and dragging over his bottom lip. "I thought of you in Austria. The boys there were delicious."

Eric's nostrils flare. The scent – Adam and wine, the underlying tang of fresh blood – swirl around Eric, soothing and enflaming him at the same time. It's the contradiction that keeps Eric demanding – _seeking out_ – Adam's companionship.

He takes the wine glass from Adam's fingers, ignoring the spark of recognition that zips though him, and drains it. "Your taste in wine has improved."

Eyes dancing with laughter, Adam says, "Must have been those years we spent taste-testing in the French countryside."

Biting back his amusement, Eric sets the glass to the side. He remembers the men and women of that time more than he remembers the wine. Leaning down, he drags a finger over Adam's collarbone and then along Adam's neck, and, lips brushing against Adam's ear, whispers, "You owe me a forfeit, Adam."

"I owe you a hunt," Adam replies, eyes sliding shut as he pushes into the touch. "Two very different things."

"They're only different if you win." Eric taps his fingertip against Adam's lips. "And you haven't won in decades. Eleven, at last count."

Not since Eric turned Pam. He wonders, not for the first time, if Adam read more into that than was – _is_ – there.

Adam snaps his teeth against Eric's finger. Giving Eric a heated look, head to toe and back again, Adam adds, "Maybe you need to ask yourself if I've been losing by design."

Before Eric can respond, Adam rolls to a stand. He takes a half of a step, pushing into Eric's personal space. Eric fights the instinct to take a step back, to gain the breathing room distance affords. "Are you staying here or did you reserve a room?"

Glancing at his watch, Eric winces. The sun will be rising soon. "I have a room."

"Pity," Adam drawls. 

"Sundown, Adam," Eric says, ignoring the come-hither tease in Adam's eyes, in his bearing. "At sundown we begin our hunt."

Adam cants his head to the side and, as he slides the glass door shut, says, "Until tonight, then."

∴ ∞ ∴

Eric dresses carefully for the hunt, needing to blend in with both the crowd and the shadows. Black denims, black wife beater, and black leather jacket. Not exactly the cutting edge of high fashion but practical.

Practical is important because, even without the human aspect of their prey, the hunt has been known to get very messy. Though it's never again been as messy as that one time, early in their acquaintance, when Eric was teaching Adam how to blend in, how to hunt unnoticed…

_"What did you do?" Eric asks, sidestepping Adam. "You smell."_

_Laughing, Adam lunges towards Eric. "I slipped."_

_"In what," Eric dances away from Adam again, "a pig trough?"_

_Rolling his eyes, Adam says, "Of course not. Off the boardwalk down by O'Toole's."_

_Eric shakes his head and snorts. That explains it. O'Toole's is the local slaughterhouse. "You will show some decorum on our next hunt."_

_Canting his head to the side, Adam murmurs, "Of course, Eric."_

_"Go shower," Eric says, tempering his words with a smile. "Do not come out until that smell is gone. It is rancid."_

And if the hunt doesn't get him messy, the sex definitely will. The sex between them is always, has always been, messy. It is passionate. Both of them fighting for dominance, neither willing to surrender gracefully. Wanting it. Demanding it. From the first time they gave into the need and the want… 

_"Adam," Eric growls. "If you don't leave now…"_

_"Not happening," Adam retorts. "This has been building for months. It ends tonight."_

_Arching a brow, Eric nips at Adam's neck, drags his fangs light and easy over the skin. "And just how do you think this is going to end?"_

_"I caught you," Adam says, voice low and sultry. Wanton._

_"In our hunt, you did," Eric agrees. Then, twisting his fingers through Adam's ginger-red hair, he adds, "That means nothing now. You want to dominate me, you earn it, boy."_

_Adam surges forward, turning into the hold Eric has on his hair, and then pushes back._

_The move catches Eric off-guard, propels him hard and fast into the wall behind. On reflex, he loosens his grip on Adam's hair and flings his hands out, fingers scrabbling against the plaster and paint._

_"Yeah," Adam grunts, pushing in hard against Eric's chest._

_Excitement swells and crests, crashing over Eric in chaotic wash of_ fight _and_ fuck _and_ goddammit, now _. It's been years –_ decades _,_ centuries _– since Eric's been this… delighted with a potential bed partner. Snarling, he swings a leg out and, clipping Adam at the ankles, and they both hit the ground. "It will take more than that, Adam. I don't roll over for just anyone, pretty smile or not."_

_"You think my smile's pretty?" Adam flashes a flirty grin, and then plants his feet and bucks up and over, rolling until he's straddling Eric's thighs. "I didn't think you'd noticed."_

_Eric lets Adam pin his wrists to the floor. Lets him settle heavy over his dick, his hips undulating slow and easy. Lets Adam think he's won. "I've noticed plenty."_

_Adam's eyes slide shut and his hold on Eric’s wrists loosens. "But?"_

_"But…" Eric smirks and then, in a move he'd learned from Godric, whirls, flipping Adam off of his thighs and onto the floor, face down. "But I've been waiting for a challenge."_

_Bearing down on Adam, Eric leans in and whispers, "Are you going to be that challenge, or are you just going to take it like a little bitch?"_

_Adam hisses and growls, struggling. Fighting._

_Throwing his head back, Eric laughs. Exhilarated. "That's it, Adam. Earn it."_

Tables, chairs. The bed. They'd all been broken that first night. If not in the first round, then in the subsequent second and third rounds. Insatiable. There had been no end to their desire that night. Or their stamina. Had the sun never come up, Eric is sure they'd have fucked themselves into a true death.

Thinking back on it, Eric grins. Their coupling hadn't been a surprise. Adam had been correct; it had been hanging there between them from day one. The intensity, their response to one another, however, had been a complete shock. The fact that now, hundreds upon hundreds of years later, the bond is still intact. That the magnitude seems to only strengthen as each decade passes, is the extremely peculiar part.

His concern for one who is not _his_ , not of his family and bloodline, is unnatural. It's yet another curiosity that has always been attached to Adam.

A curiosity that worries and thrills Eric in turn. It is, he knows, a personal attachment that is leading to one thing: the day when walking away from Adam is no longer a possibility.

He only hopes that he stays because Adam recognizes himself as Eric's equal and not because Eric can no longer bear the separation.

∴ ∞ ∴

Eric has followed Adam enough online to know that on Tuesday nights, the place to find Adam is Mr. Black's. The minute he steps into the dimly lit rooms the weight of Adam's stare lands heavy and enticing on his shoulders, warring with the overwhelming scent and noise of the humans.

Whiskey and smoke. Music and conversation. Seduction and sex. Tiny tangible pieces that, like Eric, like Adam, span the centuries. Forever swirling and changing, morphing in tone and taste and color but intrinsically still the same.

He's been in this position before. In a bar or a backroom, a bordello or a theatre, hunting Adam. Being hunted by Adam. 

Memories flash rapid-fire hot through Eric's mind. Snapshots of previous times, of near forgotten lives. Paris and Amsterdam, Milan and New York City. New Orleans and Shreveport. The hunt and the chase, the fight and the sex.

The feel and taste of his companion. Because that is what Adam is, what Eric has always claimed him to be. Time has not changed that. Adam is still his félagi, his companion, his partner.

Perhaps now Adam is also ready to be his equal.

Equal. A small innocuous word that carries a world of weight behind it.

Anticipation coils tight in Eric's groin. 

Scanning the room, he takes in the shadows and the exits, the hiding spots and the wide-open areas. He makes two passing sweeps and then, canting his head, backtracks to a side alcove. 

There. Right there. Adam is _right there_. It's a perfect spot. One he would have claimed himself. 

Inching closer, he growls when two guys bump into him, their drinks sloshing over the edge of their glasses and wetting the arm of his jacket. He snaps off a fast, "Go away," and then focuses on the nook again. 

Adam's gone. Out of the shadows and prowling.

Eric curses. Lost in the crowd, Adam is going to be harder for him to find, to capture.

Pushing his way through the throng of swaying bodies, Eric takes up a position in a darkened corner. He needs time. Time to search, time to get his bearings.

Time to decide if he's going to be the hunter or consent to being the hunted.

The decision is taken out of his hands when Adam, dressed in black from head to toe, steps into Eric's line of sight. His arm is wrapped around a tiny brunet and, with a smirk in Eric's direction, Adam leans in and takes possession of the kid's mouth. A filthy dance of teeth and tongue. A kiss of ownership.

Jealousy flares hot and fast, curling Eric's toes and racing up his spine. Those kisses, Adam's kisses, belong to him. _Adam_ belongs to him. Without thinking, Eric pushes off of the wall and stalks – _flies_ – to Adam's side.

Looking at the limpet clinging to Adam's arm, Eric bares his fangs and hisses. "Leave, human."

As soon as the twink disappears, Eric turns on Adam and demands, "Why?"

"It was the fastest way to get you to show yourself," Adam responds. "I don't feel like playing this game tonight. It has been too long to waste time wanting you from across the room. Take me home, Eric."

Eric knows he's been played masterfully. That it is Adam playing him eases the irritation of being taken in. Knowing the ruse of the hunt is over, Eric's cock swells and hardens, throbbing to a non-existent heartbeat.

No matter how much he'd wanted to end this part of the game, Eric never would have purposefully played out the losing move. To even think about it goes against Eric's very nature.

"Bastard," Eric murmurs, impressed. And pleased. Very fucking pleased.

"I'm sure you remember how to get to my house," Adam replies. Then, when Eric nods, he adds, "I'll meet you there."

∴ ∞ ∴

"Wine?" Adam asks, shutting the door behind Eric and twisting the deadbolt one-handed.

Eric shakes his head, toeing his shoes off and kicking them towards the pile that is Adam's boots.

Adam arches a brow, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Bourbon?"

"Adam," Eric growls.

Eyes going dark, Adam steps back.

And Eric pounces.

The momentum slams Adam's back into the door, Eric pressing tight against his chest. "You giving this up as fast as you stopped the hunt?"

"Would you ever respect me if I did?" Adam returns, arching against Eric's hold.

A wealth of tender emotion burns through Eric. Adam gets him. On a level far deeper than even Pam, Adam _understands_ him, knows that Eric values strength of mind and body, of character.

It may have been the curiosity that drew Eric in, but it's the person Adam is at his core that keeps Eric coming back.

"Over seven centuries and I have never had reason to not respect you," Eric replies. 

Adam's lips quirk into a grin. "Then don't expect tonight to be any different."

Then, with more strength than Eric remembers him having, Adam pushes out and breaks Eric's loose grip. Adam rakes his tongue across his own fangs and, laughing, says, "Catch me if you can." Then he darts away, long legs taking the stairs two at a time.

Laughter bubbles up in Eric, spilling out with a deep rumble. Shameless amusement. Yet another thing he only allows himself when he's with Adam. 

"I don't know why you insist on this, Adam," Eric shouts, his voice echoing off the tile and glass of the open first floor. "We both know how this will end. You'll be spread out beneath me, begging for my dick and my bite."

He cants his head to the side, listening. Adam has never been able to remain quiet and still. If Eric can just wait for it, Adam _will_ give his position away. He always does.

"I haven't decided which it is you like more," Eric says, walking up the stairs slowly, staying light on his feet. "Being fucked, or being bitten. Which one gets you off the hardest, Adam?"

A whispered, "Both, at the same time," dances softly through the air. 

"Strike one, Adam," Eric says, angling his body towards the open door on the right, in the direction the sound came from. "Your house has great acoustics. Almost like the time we were in the Bavarian forest. Would you like to go back? To Bayerischer Wald, or the fjords of Norway, maybe the canals of Venice?" From the doorway, Eric glances around the room. "We could revisit the places of your youth. Back to where your voice can ring unfettered, echoing for miles when you scream for me."

Eric hears the sound of a door opening too late to react. Adam barrels into him from behind, pushing – _carrying_ – Eric to the large bed in the center of the room. "If I remember correctly, it was your voice reverberating off the cobblestone and waterways of Venice."

Eric ignores Adam's tease – and the truth behind it – and adds his energy to the momentum of Adam's sneak attack. Rolling across the mattress, he twists and breaks free of Adam's hold. "Second entrance?"

"You always told me to have an escape route." Adam feints right and leaps over the bed. "And I always listen to my elders."

Taking a single step to the left, Eric braces himself and catches Adam, hooking an arm around Adam's waist. Turning, they ride the fury of their movements to the floor. Eric wrestles Adam around and over until Adam is facedown with his arm twisted behind him, held swift and tight against his back. "Your betters, Adam. Always listen to your betters. And that makes strike two."

"Fuck," Adam gasps, pushing and pulling, fighting against Eric's tight hold.

Eric settles heavy on Adam's thighs, his cock rubbing the cleft of Adam's ass. Leaning forward, he whispers, "Yield. Yield and I'll fuck you so good. You know that's what you want, no reason to pretend otherwise. Not now, when there's no one around to witness your submission."

A shudder races through Adam. He bucks up and back. "No."

"Liar," Eric says. He rolls his hips, drags his cock against Adam's ass. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? When you decided to not show up in Shreveport. You knew I'd come for you, knew I couldn't resist." Eric tightens his fingers around Adam's wrist, drops his voice to a whisper. "You changed the rules to our game. You wanted it to be here, in your home. You wanted me to take you here, to mark this place as mine. Admit it."

"Yes," Adam snaps. "I wanted you here. _Needed_ it. I want this place to be ours. Not mine, not yours. Ours."

"You're getting what you wanted," Eric growls, reveling in Adam's confirmation. _Ours._ The word takes Eric right back to another: equals. "Now say it."

Beneath Eric, Adam trembles again, moaning, "I yield."

Smirking, Eric whispers, "Strike three."

∴ ∞ ∴

Eric pushes Adam onto the bed. Tugging his tank over his head, he says, "Strip."

Clothes are pushed and pulled, tossed aside and forgotten and then Adam is naked and spread out. Eric hums, caught between a ridiculous urge to simply stare and, more familiar, need to claim. He takes in the changes to Adam's body. The smooth skin of chest and groin, the taut stomach and pale skin.

The freckles, Eric notices with a frown, are fading, disappearing with the lack of sunlight. Once so dark and mesmerizing, now they're another way to mark the time. Soon – in another ten, thirty years, a century if he's lucky – they will be gone completely.

They're one more thing Eric silently promises to commit to memory. 

Tossing a small bottle of lube onto the bed, Eric says, "Keep that close." Then Adam drops his gaze, shy and demure and so far from real that Eric almost laughs. "You haven't been that innocent in centuries, Adam." 

"You were staring." Then, wiggling against the sheets, Adam snatches up the lube and sticks his tongue out at Eric. "And I was, once upon a time. Not even as far back as you think. But I doubt you ever were."

The comment makes Eric wish he'd known Adam when he was a human, that he'd had at least one time to draw an arousal fueled flush to Adam's skin. To feel the heat of desire and the burn of humiliation that comes with shameless want. "No," Eric agrees. "I wasn't."

Eric crawls onto the bed, makes a space for himself between the vee of Adam's legs. Pushing Adam's legs wider and wider until, grunting, Adam cants his hips and arches his back. "I'd have turned you," he murmurs, using the tip of his fingers to trace the invisible lines that connect the freckles dotted over Adam's thighs. "If I'd have found you when you were human, I'd have turned you."

It's the first time Eric has ever given voice to that particular secret. Eric blames the fact that Adam has finally grown into his true self. And that, Adam's growth and his demands, has changed _everything_ between them.

The unknown, how it will all play out now, is as much an aphrodisiac as Adam is, flat on his back, naked and begging.

Adam's eyes go dark at Eric's admission. "Yeah? You'd have turned me?"

"Yes," Eric admits. Nipping at Adam's thigh, piercing the skin with the sharp edge of his fangs, Eric adds, "Wouldn't have been able to resist. Bet you tasted like fresh rain and lightning. A layer of naiveté hiding a wanton core."

Eric laps at the trail of blood, searching its taste for any hint of the mortal Adam used to be. Then he draws his fangs fast and sharp over Adam's hip, splitting the skin along the hard jut of bone, sinking deeper into the meaty flesh of his groin.

"Oh shit," Adam says, muscles trembling beneath the wide spread of Eric's palms. "Eric, please, more."

Drawing back, Eric watches the wounds close, the skin knitting back together and leaving the shine of wet blood behind. Pressing a kiss into the blood, he murmurs, "I'll get you there, Adam. I always do."

Adam whimpers – _Eric, fuck_ – and squirms against Eric's hold.

Eric dips his head lower. He drags the flat of his tongue over the taut line of Adam's perineum, his teeth scoring the skin on either side. Then, his fingers spreading Adam's ass, he flicks his tongue over Adam's hole. Again and again and again.

A high-pitched whine escapes through Adam's parted lips. Then, voice wrecked, he says, "Goddammit, Eric."

"Demanding," Eric replies, then fucks his tongue into Adam's hole again.

"Yeah," Adam grunts, "whatever. I'll give you demanding."

The bottle of lube lands with a quiet thud next to Eric's head. Taking the hint, Eric pulls away, sitting back on his haunches. Dragging a hand across his lips, wiping away the pink-tinged spittle, he growls, "Brat."

Legs splayed wide, Adam’s hands are curled over his head, twisting into the sheet. He looks at Eric and grins. "Uh huh." 

The nonchalant response is belied by the emotions Eric can feel rolling off of Adam in waves. Excitement, anticipation, _need_. They're almost overwhelming in their strength.

"Instead of fucking you," Eric says, circling one slick finger around Adam's hole, "I should take my time. Indulge in your blood while you long for my fingers to be buried in your ass." Leaning in, Eric licks the tip of Adam's cock, the bitter precome mixing and melding with the musk and the blood, giving him an encompassing taste of Adam. Looking up, following the long line of Adam's torso, Eric asks, "How long would you wait before you started to beg?" 

Then, smirking, Eric pushes two fingers into Adam's ass.

" _Fuck_ ," Adam hisses, his back arching and his hips rocking down, ass clenching tight on Eric's fingers.

The prep is perfunctory. Just enough to allow Eric easy access, nowhere near enough to stop the burn and pull of him forcing his cock into Adam's ass.

Adam babbles – _yes_ and _there_ and _missed this_ – the entire time, only falling silent when Eric is seated balls deep.

Closing the flat of his teeth around Adam's nipple, Eric lets his fangs push through the tight stretch of skin. 

Adam arches into the bite, groaning – _begging_ – for more. "Eric. Please."

"Perfectly wanton." Eric whispers, coating his lips in the ooze of blood. Dragging his tongue over his lips, he watches the wounds close. Again. It annoys him, knowing that Adam will never carry the proof of his bite. 

Wrapping his legs around Eric's waist, Adam tries to drag Eric in closer.

Eric holds himself stiff, then quirks a grin when Adam fails. Spectacularly. He rolls his hips, inching in and out and in to Adam’s hole.

"Don't tease, not now."

Canting his head, Eric agrees to the request and snaps his hips forward. Drives into Adam hard and fast.

Again. And again.

And again.

Adam arches and writhes and begs. As much as he yielded to Eric, he gives as good as he gets. Participating, fighting. Scratching and biting and demanding, pulling more and more and fucking _more_ from every touch, every whispered word.

Eric loves it. Loves knowing that whatever he metes out – the pain and the kisses, the teasing and the facsimile of control – Adam will take it in and wallow in it.

And then he will give it right back.

But it's not enough. Eric wants even more.

Leaning in, Eric licks a stripe over Adam’s cheek. "Come on, Adam," he grunts. "Do it. You know you want to. Want to bite and taste."

Growling, Adam surges forward and, nails scraping down Eric's back, sinks his fangs into Eric's shoulder.

Pain soars through Eric. Slamming his hips forward, scooting them both across the bed, he roars, "Yes!"

He ruts into Adam's ass, thrusting and retreating in a rapid-fire sequence until Adam's ass clenches sharp around his cock and, with Adam's spunk striping across his abdomen, Eric's body goes rigid and he comes.

And fucking comes.

Closing his eyes, Eric bites back a moan when Adam slides his fangs free of Eric's should. Slowly, Eric releases the tight hold he has on Adam's shoulders and eases back, rolling to the side and tugging Adam in close to his chest.

"Companion," Adam slurs.

"Yes, ykkarr félagi," Eric confirms, pleased with Adam's word choice. Like everything else on this trip, it shows that Adam is growing and becoming all that Eric believed him to be. "Ávalt."

∴ ∞ ∴

Eric wakes slowly, content and oddly warm. They are just as they were when the sun ascended, wrapped around one another. Clinging, even. Eric shifts slightly to the left and then settles again. Adam is all octopus, his arms and legs following the slightest of Eric's movements, holding tight and true.

The fact that he doesn't even contemplate breaking free of the grip makes Eric snort. He really does indulge Adam beyond what is reasonable. He hopes Adam never realizes just how tightly he has Eric wrapped around his little finger.

"You're awake," Adam murmurs, his breath teasing over Eric's nipple. 

Eric drags a hand up and down the length of Adam's spine. "I am."

"You woke me up," Adam says, burrowing closer to Eric's chest. "I could feel you thinking."

From anyone else, Eric would find the statement amusing, a ridiculous attempt to claim a closer connection. From Adam, however, he knows there is truth in the words. "I miss your hair."

Adam pushes up and, eyes hazy with sleep, grunts, "Huh?"

"The color. I miss the auburn it was when we first met." Eric scratches his fingers along Adam's scalp. "The black is better than that blond you insisted on, though."

"Seriously? You woke me up thinking about my hair?" Adam glares and then, with an exasperated sigh, drops his head back to Eric's chest. "You'd think, as long as you've been around, you'd have something more interesting to think about."

Eric tugs a hank of Adam's hair. "And one would think as long as you've been around you wouldn't be such an insufferable brat."

"Nah," Adam retorts, licking a fast stripe over one of Eric's nipples. "Some things are just too awesome to change."

A quiet chuckle vibrates through Eric's chest. "And he's so modest too."

Eric grins when the puff from a high and happy giggle dances across his chest. 

Minutes tick off in silence. The relaxed set of Adam's shoulders tenses until, fingers wrapping around the back of Adam's neck, Eric says, "Say it."

"You're leaving today."

"I am," Eric confirms. "I have to get back to my territory."

Adam traces an invisible circle over Eric's breastbone. "I've never been on this side of it. I'm usually the one leaving."

Wincing, Eric tightens his fingers on Adam's neck. Watching Adam leave put him in a mood for days. He can't imagine how his leaving is going to set Adam off. Despite his years as a night-dweller, Adam still lets his emotions rule his decisions. 

"Ten years shouldn't seem so long, you know?"

Eric opens his mouth, knowing he is about to open a door and take the first step toward the resolution that has been lurking on the horizon for centuries. He can't help himself. They turned a corner when Adam demanded Eric come to him. When Eric responded to that demand. Like a freight train barreling down the tracks, there is nothing to do now but let it all play out. "No one says we have to go an entire decade without seeing one another."

Jerking out of Eric's grasp, Adam looks at him with wide, hope-filled eyes. "But you said…"

"I said," Eric interrupts, silencing Adam with a finger over his lips, "that we should never go more than a decade between visits. Nothing excludes there being fewer years between seeing each other."

"You never said you wanted more." Hurt replaces the hope in Adam's eyes. "If you're just doing this for me, you need to say."

Eric arches a brow. He knows Adam knows him better than that.

"Yeah, okay, you don't do what you don't want to." Adam drops his gaze for a second and then looks back up, optimism stamped all over his face. "So, if I can swing it, I can come to Shreveport?"

"No matter where I am, you have a place at my side." It's as much of a declaration as Eric is willing to make. Any more would feel too much like begging favor for Eric's comfort. "All you have to do is claim it."

"I will," Adam replies. Twisting around, Adam settles himself along Eric's side, draping one leg over Eric's thigh, kneeing Eric's legs apart and pushing his leg into the space between. Fingers scraping against Eric's side, Adam sighs, "Mon conjoint." 

The confidence in Adam's tone is an almost tangible thing, filling the empty spaces in the room and skating warm along Eric's skin. Eric presses his lips tight together, refusing to embarrass himself further with more silly sentimentalities.

When Eric remains silent, Adam looks up and his lips twitch. "Don't hurt yourself holding all of that in."

Rolling his eyes, Eric lands a fast slap against Adam's ass. "You're nowhere near as funny as you think you are."

"Umhum," Adam hums. "We can debate that this summer, in Shreveport."

"Do not make promises you can't keep, Adam." Eric twines his finger through Adam's hair and pulls, forcing Adam to meet his gaze. "Your word is…"

"My bond," Adam interrupts. "And my bond is to you. As a partner and an equal. I understand that now."

Eric holds Adam's stare, hoping that all he's feeling is showing in his eyes. Hating himself for needing to ask, Eric murmurs, "This summer?"

"This summer. Just…" Adam swallows once and then, body tensing again as the words rush out, says, "No more hunts. Just this, us."

The tight ball of tension that's been knotting Eric's gut since Adam missed – skipped, _ignored_ – their usual appointment starts to unravel. After centuries, everything between them has changed overnight. Changed in a way Eric, even though he wouldn't have asked for it, has wanted for years. For almost as long as Adam has been on his own. Clearing the thick bunch of emotion in his throat, Eric murmurs, "No more hunts."

"Okay." Adam goes lax against Eric. "I can clear a week or two, in between promo and the Queen thing." 

"A week or two? I'll have to make plans, see to your entertainment." A week or two will give him time to introduce Adam to a few select people, ground him with a connection to Shreveport. Give him something more than just having Eric, a life full of friends that will make him want to stay. "I'll take you up to Bon Temps. Introduce you to a fairy I know."

Adam's eyes light up. "Seriously? A fairy?"

Laughter breaks through Eric, tumbling around and erupting in a loud bark of noise. He can just imagine the horrified look he'll get the first time he takes Adam into the backwater that is Bon Temps. He doubts even the lure of a fairy will smooth those sure-to-be ruffled feathers. "Yes, a fairy."

Eric lets Adam's chatter wash over him, a small grin curving the edges of his lips.

He can't wait for summer to hit Shreveport.

∴ ∞ ∴ ∞ ∴

**Author's Note:**

> Old Norse translations found at [site A](http://www.freelang.net/online/old_norse.php?lg=gb) and [site B](http://www.vikingrune.com/old-norse-motto-generator/) and thanks to @ariannemaya for the French help.
> 
>  
> 
> trú þegir… faith keeps silent; ykkarr félagi… your partner; ávalt… always; mon conjoint… my partner


End file.
